This 1973 text seems to be a lesser-known transitional work of the Old Man of Letters. A narrative like pond ripples, memories of lost days fading into the sky, backdrop of young boys fucking, animal smells, death training. Burroughs populates the devastation of an open, dissipating world with his trademark queer-cowboy machismo. The result is less a coherent story than an evolving cascade of associations, tugging sad soft memories behind it in the jelly-webbed morning light. [Berkeley: Blue Wind Press]
